


Shakespirited

by orphan_account



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Dreams and Nightmares, F/M, Fox Mulder Angst, Fox Mulder Torture, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Minor Character Death, Murder Mystery, References to Shakespeare, Shakespeare Quotations, Undercover, casefile
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:53:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23118781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: When the members of a small Shakespearean company start dying, Mulder and Scully go undercover to investigate. But will they discover what is killing people, or will they be next?
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	1. Prologue

**May 1, 2002  
Former Rosenbluth's Drug Store  
temporary rehearsal hall  
Cleveland, Ohio**

The clatter of running feet caused all heads to turn as a young man came hurtling down the spiral staircase. Wild-eyed and disheveled, he skidded to a stop on the periphery of the small knot of people. His mouth worked for several soundless seconds before another voice spoke.

"What the hell is it, David?" A slim blonde man drove long fingers through his hair in frustration. "You're supposed to be getting ready for Paris' scenes in the crypt. What is so important that you needed to disrupt the rehearsal?"

"Andrea..." Pale and visibly shaking, David turned eyes full of horror to the ceiling. His neck twitched as he swallowed a sob, forcing words past the terror in his throat. "You have to... she... Andrea, she's..."

The blond shouldered his way through the silent group, impatience radiating before him in waves. 

"Doug..." Reaching out a tentative hand to slow the headlong rush, David was brushed to one side, then lost in the trailing crowd of onlookers. 

"Where is she?" The question ricocheted off the empty store's dusty brick walls, falling to the floor in his wake. "By God, if she's been drinking again, I'll kill her."

The serpentine line of fellow actors twined up the iron staircase. David's face crumpled. Tears slid down his cheeks, dripping onto his shirt. 

Reaching the upper level, Doug began slamming open doors as he rampaged down the hall of the long-abandoned apartment. Each failure to find what he sought pulled a snarl of disgust from his lips that caused his followers to hop back a step. He stopped short in the open doorway of the very last room. 

High-pitched shrieks couldn't cover the sound of gasps followed by retreating footsteps behind him. In a few minutes, Doug was the only one left in the echoing upper floor of the derelict building. He could hear voices shouting for someone to call 911, but the noise didn't register on his conscious mind. Sighing, he rubbed a hand over sorrowful eyes, sliding down the doorframe to sit vigil in the soft dust until help arrived.

"I'm sorry, Andrea," he whispered to no one. "It looks like someone beat me to it."

When the sound of sirens closing in reached his ears, Doug finally was able to tear his gaze away from the beautiful red-haired woman, lying in a lake of blood with a knife sticking out of her chest.


	2. Act 1

**May 4, 2002**  
**temporary rehearsal hall**  
**Cleveland, Ohio**  
**4:20 PM**

"Michael, what are you doing?"

"Sorry?"

"What are you doing?"

"Umm, saying my lines?"

"WRONG! You're saying something, but they're not Osric's lines! Osric is a fop. He loves show, and prettiness, and ceremony. He would speak like a fop. YOU, however, sound like you're reading someone their rights!"

"Do you want me to go again?"

"Yes! Of course, go again! Start from 'Nay my good lord.' And this time try to sound like Osric."

*ahem*

"'Nay my good lord; for mine ease, in good faith. Sir, here is newly come to court Laertes; believe me...'"

"Debbie, dear..."

"Me?"

"Yes, you, my precious. You are a lady in waiting, are you not?"

"Uh, yes..."

"Do you know what that means?"

"I... think so, yes."

"It means she is waiting; as in standing. She is not a 'lady in motion.' You are causing a distraction by walking around the stage. Kindly pick a spot and stay there! Do you think you can do that?"

"I'm sorry, Doug."

"Should I keep going now?"

"No, Michael, no. This whole thing is giving me a migraine. Why in God's name they had to send amateurs I'll never know. All right people, listen up. You've got an early evening, so I want all of you back here an hour earlier tomorrow. That means 9:00 AM Brian, not 10:30 like today. Maybe I won't still feel a need to slaughter< you all by morning. Michael..."

"Yeah, Doug?"

"We'll work on the understudies tomorrow. Do you know Hamlet's part yet? I know you've only been here one day, but do you know _any_ of it?"

"Sure, I know the whole thing."

"Well, pray God you're a better Hamlet than Osric."

The old, empty store echoed with the squeak of sneakers and voices as the company filed out to their respective homes and suppers. Michael gave Debbie a long, lingering glance, which she returned. Attaching themselves to the end of the line, he waited until everyone else was out of earshot before speaking.

"I don't know if I can do this."

"Sure you can."

"But Osric?! I mean, Laertes, now. I could really get inside his head with no problem. His father murdered; his sister driven to her death; buffeted by forces he can't control until he snaps. Yeah, just get Alex Krycek to play Hamlet and I could really get behind Laertes."

"How about a lady in waiting, Mulder? This is the most boring thing I've ever done in my life. All I do is stand around, waiting. Thank God I've got bigger parts in the other two plays. Aren't there any good female roles in this one besides the Queen and Ophelia?"

"Nope, sorry, Scully. There aren't more than a few female parts in any of Shakespeare's plays. Women weren't allowed to act on the stage back then, so the female roles had to be played by men. It just made sense to limit how many guys in drag they needed. What in God's name was Skinner thinking by sending us out here?"

"He was thinking of three actors dead and one in a coma in three weeks time. He was thinking of no evidence and even fewer clues. He was thinking maybe he could get us out of his hair for a while, such as it is."

"Well, he should have thought to send someone who could act. We'll never be able to hold our cover this time." 

"Speaking of our cover, what's with the names?" 

"Why? What's wrong with them?'

"Michael Mulder and Debbie Scully? Anyone who wanted to could look those up on the internet and find out they aren't really ours."

"How do you know there aren't two people completely unrelated to us with those names? What did you want, Scully? Rob and Laura Petrie?"

"I thought it was my turn to pick the names."

"You weren't in Skinner's office when he asked for suggestions. I just thought it would be easier not having to think about what to call each other. Besides, I still don't see why the Cleveland Field Office couldn't handle it."

"Because they may be known to the local actors, Mulder. We've already been over this. Besides, it's almost like a vacation for us. Nothing supernatural, no monsters or conspiracies. Just a chance to relax and enjoy spring in beautiful Northeast Ohio while we look into a few murders."

"You go ahead and relax. Tomorrow, I'm Hamlet. And the day after that, I'm Cassio. And the day after that, I'm Romeo. Scully, what the hell are we doing here?"

* * *

**Take 5 Coffee Company  
Downtown Cleveland  
5:30 PM**

"I still say you're wrong."

"Look, Mulder, Agent Kovach said all the alibis checked out. It's hard to kill someone when you're with a large group of people. Plus the autopsy reports indicate suicide."

"Scpt fo Tres Pas."

"Mulder, swallow first, then talk."

~gulp~ "Sorry, Scully. I said except for Teresa Bates. She was strangled by Bill Yankovic, who killed himself before he could be arrested. And I know Andrea Dixon seems to have stabbed herself. But I just don't think it's as simple as suicide. For one thing, Sean Barliss is alive, even if he is still in a coma, so no one knows if he took the poison on his own."

"Do you think someone else is killing these people?"

"Well, I suppose it could be Doug. He seems like a pretty loose cannon to me, but as you said, his alibis have all checked out. I think his main problem is the stress of trying to pull together a series of plays with a constantly changing cast. Besides, what reason would he have for killing off his own company? Doesn't that seem a bit self-defeating to you?"

"Actually, it could work in his favor. Agent Kovach said this could be their last season if they don't bring in enough money to keep their financial backers happy. With the publicity about the deaths, morbid curiosity will help to fill seats. Who has a better reason to want that than the company's managing director?"

"I don't know, Scully. There are still those tight alibis in our way. Maybe what we're looking at here is something along the lines of possession or occult influence."

"How did we just go from suicide to murder to possession, Mulder? Doesn't that seem a bit far-fetched, even to you?"

"You know me; the shortest distance between two points is the most paranormal one."

"Well, I'm leaning more toward the suicide angle, unlikely as it seems at the moment. That still makes more sense to me than a vengeful spirit out to murder the members of a small acting company. Besides, why would it pick now, and why here? They're in an old abandoned store, so the 'ghost of the theater' cliche doesn't apply."

"Maybe it's something to do with the history of the drug store. Cleveland is an old port city with a long, colorful history. I'm not going to discount anything at the moment." 

Taking a sip of his iced tea, Mulder caught Scully's eye, quirking one brow toward the door. She turned as though looking for something in her purse and noticed one of their fellow actors standing just inside the entry. He appeared to be scanning the small coffee shop for someone. Scully looked back at Mulder, mouthing the words "Our contact?"

Nodding, Mulder raised a hand, signaling the younger man over to their table. "David!" he shouted. "Over here."

Casting quick glances left and right, David Prohaska strode up to their table, but refused the proffered chair, shifting from foot to foot as he stood.

"I'd like to join you," he mumbled, "but I'm supposed to be meeting someone."

Waving a finger between himself and Scully, Mulder stated, "That would be us." He thrust out a hand and pumped David’s arm, jostling the smaller man. "Special Agent Mulder, FBI." He hooked a thumb to the side. "My partner, Special Agent Scully. You're the one who contacted the Bureau about the deaths, right?"

Pulling out an empty chair, David dropped into it with a thud. "How did you know it was me?"

"We were in touch with the Cleveland Field Office," Scully informed him. "They let us know who to look for, and gave us the background on the case. We need to ask you some questions about what's been going on."

"What should I call you?" David wanted to know.

Before Scully could give an answer, Mulder jumped in. "You can call me Mulder," he said, and gestured at Scully. "She's Debbie." That earned him a glare. 

"What do you need to know?" David asked, giving his lips a nervous lick.

Glancing over at her partner, Scully caught his quick nod. He wanted her to take the lead, so he could sit back and watch the young actor's body language. They hadn't discussed what questions to ask yet, so she decided to start with the obvious.

"Did any of the victims seem depressed? Had they attempted suicide before?" she inquired.

"Not that I'm aware. They were just regular people for the most part. They were a little jumpier than usual, but then we all are, what with so much riding on this season. There might be some kind of flu bug going around. Lots of us have been sick off and on lately. Even me."

"When did this start?"

"Probably a month ago. I don't remember exactly. It wasn't everybody at once or anything. Just one person at a time. We figured it was a virus making its way through the troupe. Then people started dying and everyone forgot about it."

"How did you find Andrea Dixon? Aren't the upstairs rooms in the store closed off?"

Licking his lips again, David nodded, eyes flicking back and forth and around the cafe. "We don't use those rooms, even for changing costumes. All of the clothes are kept in the back storage room on the main floor. I went looking for Andrea because we were going to be rehearsing a scene together and Doug gets irritated when anything holds up the company. I couldn't find her downstairs, so I figured I'd look upstairs." He swallowed, shaking his head. "I found her, all right."

Running his finger around the rim of his iced tea glass, Mulder posed a nonchalant question. "Were there ever any fights between the players? Anyone who might have a reason to dislike the others?"

"Well, sure," David stated. "We're actors. There are always egos involved in a company like this. But we all get along pretty much. Doug can be nasty at times, but he's okay. He just has a lot of pressure on him right now to produce a money-making season. He doesn't mean some of the things he says."

"Like what?" Scully asked.

David fidgeted in his chair. He glanced around again, as if looking for eavesdroppers, before leaning closer across the table. "When I told Doug he needed to go upstairs and see Andrea, he said he'd kill her if she'd been drinking again." He sat back with an air of having imparted a piece of important news and waited for their reactions. He appeared disappointed when they just looked at each other with eyebrows raised. 

Reaching into his back pocket, David produced a creased sheet of notebook paper and handed it to Mulder. "The agent I talked to at the Field Office said you'd need a list of the players and the roles they're doing. Of course, the roles have changed a bit, now that we're short on actors. Each of us has at least two main characters to learn, plus some minor ones. Doug's trying to make sure we can keep the rehearsals going, but it's not easy when the parts keep changing." 

Mulder scanned the list, then handed it to Scully. "We'll be in touch if we have any more questions. And we'd appreciate it if you'd keep who we are to yourself for now. The fewer people who know, the easier the investigation will be."

Rising to his feet, the young actor nodded in agreement. He glanced around the cafe once more, then headed out the door.

Scully folded the paper. Slipping it into her purse, she stood to leave. "Let's take this discussion back to our rooms. I want to go over those autopsy reports again and see if anything jumps out at me."

"Well considering where we're staying, the possibilities are endless for things jumping out."

"Mulder," she chuckled, "how on earth did you find furnished rentals with a view of the Erie Street Cemetery?"

"Divine intervention." He grinned back. "Plus I told Agent Kovach exactly what I was looking for. Erie Street is Cleveland's oldest existing cemetery, Scully. It's supposed to be haunted. I couldn't pass up such a perfect opportunity."

"Well I wish you'd passed up the rooms over Forgac Collision and Towing. The sink in my place hasn't stopped spewing rusty water yet. I hate to think what the communal shower down the hall is like. And I can't believe that everyone has to share a bathroom. It's like college, only worse. What I wouldn't give for a nice fleabag motel right about now."

Placing his hand on her back, Mulder ushered Scully onto the sidewalk, into the soft breeze of an unseasonably warm Lake Erie Spring. 

"I'll remember that the next time you complain about our accommodations," he said. 

Scully sighed. "I was afraid you'd say that."

* * *

**Apartment 3-C  
Forgac Collision and Towing  
E. 9th Street  
11:47 PM**

"That wasn't very helpful, Scully."

"Neither was nibbling on my neck while I was concentrating on the autopsy reports. I've got cans of iced tea in that pathetic excuse for a fridge. You want one?"

"No thanks. I was guzzling tea all through rehearsal. I've probably got enough caffeine in my system to keep me going for a week." Mulder tossed the file folder next to Scully's laptop, scrubbing his eyes. "Did you find out anything useful today?"

"It's a little hard to find anything when you have to stand around all day waiting for your cue." Scully stretched her neck from side to side, enjoying the snap of releasing vertebrae. Mulder scooted closer on the couch, long fingers pressing circles into the tight muscles across her shoulders. She sighed in relief, shooting him a smile of gratitude.

"What are we doing undercover in the first place?" Relaxing back into the couch, Mulder rubbed his stomach. "It would be so much easier to go in, badges blazing, and ask for the information we need."

"Apparently, the Playhouse Square stockholders want this kept quiet. Skinner said they've spent a lot of time and money renovating the theaters. I guess they're afraid a couple of flapping trenchcoats will spoil all their feel-good publicity."

"Then the skullduggery approach it is. Maybe you'll have more time to look around tomorrow. They've got enough understudies for the main female characters, so you'll be free to check things out while I'm slaving away."

"That's what you get for having all the juicy parts, Mulder. If there were more female roles, I'd have more lines to study, and _you_ could be the one skulking in dark corners. I'm not even sure what I'm looking for."

"Anything out of place. Unusual cold spots, strange behavior, levitation, eyes spitting fire in the dark..."

"Thanks. That was a big help. I just don't see... yoooww..." Scully's jaw cracked with the force of her yawn, drawing an answering one from her partner. Mulder still rubbed at his stomach, something she noticed he'd been doing off and on all evening. 

"Can't see anything when your eyes are blurry, Scully. Maybe we should call it a night. We've got an early rehearsal tomorrow."

"But we haven't come up with anything concrete yet, Mulder." Sliding sideways down the tattered sofa, she sprawled across his legs, gesturing to her open laptop. "All we know is that three people are dead, one is in a coma, and all four showed traces of scopolamine, hyoscine, or atropine. We don't even know why it's there or where it came from."

"With the help of David's list, we've at least established that the roles they were playing had something to do with their behavior. If you look at how they died, it's clear that there's a correlation. Bill Yankovic was Othello -- he strangled his Desdemona, Teresa Bates, and then slit his own throat. Romeo, Sean Barliss, drank atropine in the form of eye drops, whether voluntarily or not. And Andrea Dixon, as Juliet, stabbed herself." Mulder's jaw cracked on another yawn. 

"I wish we had more to go on." Struggling to sit back up, Scully found herself being pulled down and pinned across Mulder's lap.

"You'll just have to nose around as much as you can tomorrow," he breathed into her ear, bending down to kiss the lobe. "Right now, I've got concrete ideas about some funky monkeyshines."

Pushing his questing face to one side, she rolled off the couch and stood up. "We're both tired, Mulder, and as you said, we have an early rehearsal. Time for you to go to sleep -- in your own room."

"But Sculleee...." 

"No buts, Mulder. It'll be good motivation for us to close this case so we can go home. And just what are you planning to do while I'm poking my nose into dusty cupboards?"

"I've got a full day of understudy rehearsals," he said. His hand was rubbing his stomach again.

"Uh huh," Scully mumbled, then changed the subject. "What's with your stomach tonight, Mulder? Is it bothering you?"

He glanced down in surprise at the hand that was still massaging his midsection. "I told you there'd be hell to pay if I had to eat decent food. Guess something in that healthy dinner didn't agree with me."

"Well let me know if you need anything for it," she said, closing the laptop. Giving Mulder a quick peck on the lips, she pulled him up from the sofa and pushed him toward the door. "Try to get some sleep. See you at breakfast."

Grumbling under his breath, Mulder shuffled out into the hall, and headed for his own room. He was standing in front of the door with the key in his hand, when the color drained from his face. Spinning on his heel, Mulder raced down the length of the hall, slapping the swinging door of the communal bathroom open without stopping. It was a good thing Scully had already closed her door and wandered into the bedroom, or she would have been treated to the sound of her partner's painful retching. 

* * *

**2:53 AM**

Ghostly granite angels shimmered in the wavering moonlight, casting their winged silhouettes over the neighboring monuments. Here a sorrowing cherub; there a cross stating "Sacred to the Memory of;" in the distance, a mausoleum cloaked in shadows. Mulder wove his way between them, noting the names and dates, wandering without purpose, yet certain of where he wanted to be. The sound of singing drew him deeper into the burial ground. Leaves crackled and slid under his feet as he closed in on the voice. Presently, he could see the glow of a lantern illuminating each shovelful of soil as it was pitched onto a growing mound beside a hole in the ground. The singing was coming from inside the grave.

Stopping well back, Mulder listened for a moment. "Has this fellow no feeling of his business? He sings in grave-making." 

"Custom hath made it in him a property of easiness."

Mulder gasped, turning toward the familiar voice. Alex Krycek was standing next to him, hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket. A skull came sailing out of the hole, rolling to a stop between them. Mulder poked it with his bare toes.

"That skull had a tongue in it, and could sing once. How the knave throws it to the ground, as if it were Cain's jaw-bone that did the first murder!" 

"Ay, my lord."

Stepping a little closer, Mulder called toward the dark pit. "Whose grave's this?"

The face of Dr. Blockhead popped into view. "Mine sir. It's not yours, for you don't lie in it. And yet while I don't lie in it either, still, it's mine." His face popped back down and the singing resumed. 

More dirt flew up onto the pile, bones scattering down the slopes to clank together at the bottom. Mulder continued to watch until a sound drew his attention. Glancing around, he realized that Krycek was no longer standing beside him. He was trotting toward a clearing in the woods, dribbling the skull. 

Robert Patrick Modell ran checking maneuvers as Krycek dodged back and forth. It didn't seem odd that he was using both hands -- the left one looked as though it had never been missing. Mulder suddenly found himself running defense in front of Krycek, closing in on the flood-lit basketball hoop. Eugene Victor Tooms and Donnie Pfaster guarded the backboard, while Scully's brother, Bill ran defense to Krycek's right. Three on three seemed like good odds. As Krycek sent the skull sailing toward the basket, the clearing blinked, and disappeared. 

Bill Scully stood with Skinner beside the open grave. 

"Must there be no more done?"

Skinner closed the file he was reading, and handed it to his secretary. "No more be done," he said. "Her death was doubtful."

"A ministering angel shall my sister be when you lie howling."

Everything went dark. For a moment, Mulder wasn't sure whether or not he'd gone blind. But then the earth beneath him began to glow, and he realized he was standing inside the grave. A cloth wrapped body lay at his feet, face obscured, violets resting over the folded hands. 

"What, the fair Ophelia?" Mulder reached out to reveal the face, hand trembling.

"The devil take thy soul, you sorry son-of-a-bitch!" Bill Scully's words dropped into the open grave, bouncing back and forth until they left Mulder's ears ringing. Drawing a steadying breath, he peeled back the shrouded layers, and looked down at the still face of Dana Scully. Tears dripped off his chin to land on her body, soaking into the white cloth.

"Forty thousand brothers could not with all their quantity of love make up my sum."

Her eyes sprang open.

"Should we be pickin' out china patterns, or what?"

With a mighty rumble, the ground cracked open under his feet. Mulder fell backward into the fissure, arms flailing, too stunned to scream. As he tumbled down and down, the glow of light from the grave grew fainter. The jolt of landing on the floor completed his journey back from sleep. He groaned, not sure if he was hurt or just startled from his rude awakening. Levering himself to a standing position, he shuffled over to the window of his room. The sign outside flashed "Forgac" in time to the throbbing in his head. He swabbed the inside of his mouth with a tongue too dry to do any good. Resting his hip against the windowsill, Mulder stared across East 9th Street at the statues gleaming in the graveyard, unnaturally illuminated by the street lights. Here a cherub; there a cross. And in the distance, as he leaned against the cool glass, trying to massage away the persistent ache in his gut, Mulder thought he saw Alex Krycek dribbling a skull into the shadows.


	3. Act 2

**rehearsal hall  
men's dressing room  
May 5  
9:10 AM**

"Hurry up, Michael. Wardrobe is waiting to do our fittings, and we're gonna be late for rehearsal if you don't move it."

The sound of Scully's raised voice preceded her into the dressing room by several seconds. Otherwise, Mulder might not have recognized her as his partner. He'd seen her hair piled up in ringlets and wisps before, but he'd never seen her laced into a dress quite like the one she was currently wearing. It looked to be made from some heavy, embossed fabric reaching all the way to the floor and trailing in her wake. She only avoided tripping on the extra length by holding it bunched in her hands. But the amount of Scully the skirt covered appeared to be in reverse proportion to the amount of her that spilled out of the low-cut top. Mulder was thankful she broke his trance before his eyeballs dried out from staring.

"Close your mouth, Mulder. Haven't you ever seen breasts before?" Planting her fists on her hips just shoved them up higher out of the neckline. 

Mulder's jaws came together with an audible snap. "Yes, I have. And those aren't breasts; they're bazooms. Believe me, there's a difference."

Scully ignored his remark and took in his partially-dressed state. Turning to shut the door, she couldn't contain a smirk. "Um, I think there's a slight problem with your costume."

Glancing down his bare torso to the dark green tights it had taken him five minutes of steady cursing to don, Mulder stated, "I don't see anything wrong."

"You're not supposed to wear boxer briefs under tights."

His mouth fell open, again. "I can't just let it all hang out," he huffed. "Everyone will be able to tell whether my parents held a bris or a baptism."

Hunting through the boxes of clothing on the floor, Scully pulled something out, tossing him a wisp of cloth. Mulder untangled it and frowned.

"It's a jock strap."

"It's a dancer's strap," she corrected. "It's built on the same principal but for a different purpose. It gives you a more uniform, androgynous bulge. Now hurry up and put it on."

"You mean I have to take these damned things off and put them back on again?" Mulder was clearly horrified by the very idea.

Picking up another piece of clothing from the box, Scully tried to demonstrate proper tights-putting-on technique. "Bunch one leg into a ring in your hands like this, point your toes, and smooth it up your leg. Then do the other one the same way. Doesn't anyone ever put on pantyhose in those videos of yours? Or do they just take them off?"

"Very funny, Whoopi Goldberg," Mulder grumbled, as he wiggled out of the offending garment. "Could you please leave so I can get this over with?"

An unladylike snort escaped before she could stop it. "Mulder, we were buck naked and dancing the horizontal mambo in the not-so-distant past. Why the sudden modesty?"

"I just don't think there's any need for you to witness me flopping around like a beached flounder. At least turn your back while I struggle into this torture device."

Turning around, Scully crossed her arms with difficulty over her prominent chest. "Fine, fine," she muttered. "I'll allow you to preserve your dignity. Just remember this the next time you watch me put on hose."

"I promise..." ~grunt~ "to avert..." ~gasp~ "my eyes... shit... in order to preserve" ~snap~ "your feminine mystique. Jesus, Scully, who the hell invented tights, anyway?"

"Same person who invented girdles and pantyhose, Mulder," she said. "The Marquis de Sade."

"I can feel a breeze blowing across my ass! There's nothing but a stretchy piece of fabric between me and mooning the world."

"That's what doublets and tunics are for."

"No tunic is gonna be long enough to hide the four-man tent I started pitching the minute I saw you in that dress."

Scully peeked over her shoulder. "Looks like a pup tent to me, Mulder. What's the matter? Can't handle a little cleavage?"

He shot her a withering glance as he picked up a black doublet slashed with green facings. "I don't think it's called cleavage when your breasts are mounded up under your chin."

"That was just the style in Shakespeare's day. It's a traditional form of dress for doing his plays."

"It's traditional because men have always liked looking at boobage." Dressed at last, Mulder's doublet hung down to his knees and bagged under the arms. He frowned. "The last guy must have been beefy."

Hitching up her skirt with one hand, Scully grabbed the doorknob with the other. "That's why theaters have seamstresses, Mulder. Now let's go see her about alterations so we can get this investigation on the road." She pulled the door open and waved him through.

"Good idea," he agreed. "Maybe I can get her to help me find the top half of your dress."

* * *

**rehearsal hall  
12:45 PM**

"No thanks, Mulder."

Taking back the proffered mug of tea, he sipped the steamy liquid. "It's good. You should try it."

"No thanks," Scully repeated. She gathered up her crumb-filled sandwich wrapper, brushing her hands on her jeans. The other actors were beginning to drift back from their lunch break, filling the empty storefront with echoing chatter as they found chairs around the room's perimeter. 

Measuring for alterations had taken a bit longer than necessary, owing to Mulder's constant flirting with the elderly wardrobe mistress. They had, indeed, been late to rehearsal, which called down another round of sarcasm from Doug. Deciding that a bit of distance between him and Mulder was in order, Scully had gone out for sandwiches, which they ate in the empty store. At least, she'd eaten hers while Mulder picked his to bits and drained two mugs of tea. Now people were straggling in from their meals, bringing fragrant blasts of the warm May wind with them.

She looked up as someone dropped into the chair between her and Mulder. He reminded Scully of Skinner -- large, broad, muscular. And bald. He smiled at both agents and stuck out a hand.

"We didn't meet yesterday. I'm Joe Korniak, the fight coordinator." His white smile stood out against the tan he already sported so early in the season. Mulder gripped his hand, eyes widening at the strength of his clasp. Scully made the introductions. 

Joe turned to her, presenting his back to Mulder's startled gaze.

"So where else have you worked?" Joe asked. "I'd have remembered if I'd seen you in Cleveland before."

Scully pasted a smile on her face and hoped Mulder could hear the lie she was about to concoct.

"We were with the Kent State company for a while, until they folded." Her mind scrabbled around for something to add, wishing her uncharacteristically silent partner would jump in for once. "Umm, then we just sort of wandered from place to place, wherever they needed someone in a pinch. That's been pretty much it."

"Yeah, I heard Kent had a small group that they couldn't keep going," Joe agreed, nodding. "Why do you keep saying 'we'? Do the two of you travel everywhere together, like some kind of special team? You know, the Avengers of the Shakespearean crowd?"

The unwise, scathing reply on the tip of Scully's tongue was halted by raised voices coming from the other side of the stage. All heads swiveled in that direction.

"I don't give a shit, Doug! I don't want to understudy Cassio!" The young actor with the glasses and mousy-blond ponytail was standing toe to toe with his director, glowering up at the taller man. "He's a wuss and an idiot, and I'd rather do Iago if I have to do anyone."

Doug seemed unfazed by the wild-eyed actor. "I don't care what you want, Brian. I'm in charge. We're short-handed, so quit your whining and do as you're told. Now let's get back to work."

Everyone released a collective breath when the expected punch in the nose became footsteps stomping out of the store, to the accompaniment of a slamming door. They all turned to watch out the window as Brian strode off down the sidewalk, t-shirt flapping in the brisk May breeze.

"Okay," Doug announced, with a put-upon sigh, "it looks like we'll be taking a break until Joe and I can get Brian back and talk some sense into him. Relax, but don't go too far." He walked over and pulled the door open, looking back at the man between the two agents. "Come on, Joe," he demanded. "You know you're the only one he'll listen to lately."

Shrugging in apology, Joe stood, sticking out a hand to Scully in farewell. "Sorry to run, but we can talk again later. Nice to meet you, Debbie." He turned as an afterthought. "You too, umm, Michael, was it? We'll work together on the sword fighting tomorrow. Provided we can convince Laertes he's needed here. He's still a bit on edge I guess. Teresa Bates was his sister."

On that note, he followed Doug out into the afternoon sunshine, leaving a wide-eyed Scully with her first good look at the glowering face of her partner. His black gaze skittered away from hers.

"How did they miss the connection, Mulder?" she whispered. "I'm surprised the Field Office overlooked that, even if they didn't have the same last name. We need to talk to Brian as soon as possible. Maybe he can tell us something about his sister's relationship with the man who strangled her."

"Maybe your mind was on other things yesterday," he grated. "Why don't you go and help your friend Joe, Scully? He's probably waiting outside for you right now."

"What the hell are you talking about, Mulder?"

"Nothing. Forget I said anything." He thumped his mug down on the floor and stood to leave.

"No, I won't forget it. Tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing's wrong, Scully. Just drop it."

She stood as well, moving into his personal space and trying to catch his furtive glance. "The testosterone is coating my skin like an oil slick. Why are you acting like this?"

The glaring eyes that looked at her from under lowered brows sent a shiver of concern through Scully's body. 

"I said nothing is wrong," Mulder hissed. "Now leave me alone." Shaking off her restraining hand, he stomped off to the back of the store, all the startled eyes in the room eagerly observing this new entertainment.

But no one was quite as surprised as Dana Scully.

* * *

Slamming cupboard doors did nothing to alleviate Scully's disquiet. All it did was stir up dust that made her sneeze. Rubbing the tickle at the end of her nose left a smear of gray behind. She hadn't bothered to follow Mulder, even when she heard him vomiting in the bathroom. Maybe whatever was upsetting his stomach was responsible for his current mood. She decided to confront him about it later, after she'd looked around some more.

She'd already been through the upstairs and most of the first floor. For a small storefront, it was a warren of cubby holes and rooms, some leading one off the other. Most were empty. A couple still contained a piece or two of furniture. The minuscule closet had yielded a hot water bottle with a hole in the side, some random bobbie pins, and a mound of toweling scraps that Scully sifted with her fingers before finding a pile of mouse bones inside. The yelp she let out was instinctive and unstoppable.

"Some FBI pathologist you are," she'd muttered to herself. "Get a grip. You've seen worse." 

The kitchen was the last room she'd needed to search on the first floor. It was also turning out to be the most interesting. Still in use by the actors for the purpose of heating tea, coffee, and simple foods on a hot plate, it also contained a few relics of the previous owner. Most she discovered on the shelves at the top of the floor-to-ceiling cupboards. That meant climbing the cabinets, using the shelves as toe holds, but that's why they had yearly physical fitness recertification. 

Easier than that stupid rope wall at Quantico, she thought. 

Fishing into the shadows at the back of the shelves, Scully prayed she wouldn't encounter a mouse that'd suffered a more recent demise. She placed the objects she found on a lower shelf near her knees, where she'd be able to look at them once she climbed down. So far, there were ten antique bottles, four books, a box of kitchen matches, a bottle opener (the pry-up kind), and an assortment of string, straight pins, newspaper bits, and bobbie pins. The last occupant hadn't checked very carefully when it came time to leave.

Hopping down from the cabinet, Scully wiped her dusty hands on her jeans before turning to the objects she'd found. The oddments she dismissed as useless. The bottles probably weren't very important either, except to an antiques dealer. Some of the labels were intact. One marked "Barber's Liquid Styptic" still retained a clear fluid near the top, but there was a chunk of white sediment in the bottom. The others were completely empty. Those stoppered with cork, Scully postulated, had evaporated over time, leaving a filmy residue on the inside. She could tell what some of them had held because the brand name was embossed in the glass. Listerine. The Bayer Company. Phillips Milk Of Magnesia on bright blue glass. A half-pint milk bottle proclaimed "Fenn Dairy, Kent, O." The tiny gold and blue tin of "Colgate Talc for Men" gave her a flashback to her Grandfather Scully's bathroom shelf, with the bottle of Old Spice aftershave, powder tin, and the razor strop hanging on a hook from the side. Thinking how fascinated her mother would be by these pieces of the past, Scully turned next to the books.

What she had assumed was a small pamphlet turned out to be a pack of needles. Labeled "The Polly Prim Needle Book," it advertised its German wares in glowing prose on the cover of a protective envelope. "Price 50 cents." From the weight of the package, it appeared all the needles were still inside, too. Scully set that aside in favor of the remaining items.

The first book she picked up was something she would have expected to find in a drug store. A tattered, worn volume on pharmacology, dated 1925. Scully wondered how the druggist had managed to dispense his medicines properly if that was what he'd been using until the store closed. She hoped it was left behind because it was outdated and useless. 

The next one wasn't too surprising, either. Poisonous Plants of the United States, by Walter Muenscher. The date on the title page was 1939. It seemed logical that a pharmacist would need to know about toxic plants. He would be second only to the family doctor as the person a frantic parent would contact when Junior nibbled on one of the houseplants. 

The last book's title caused both eyebrows to climb her forehead in surprise. History of Magic, by Eliphas Levi. It looked like a well-used volume, maybe even a first edition. The date inside was 1860. Mulder would flip when she told him.

Smoothing a hand over the old, shiny leather cover, she added the book to her collection of odds and ends. 

Closing the cupboard door caused a billow of dust that tickled her into sneezing again. When an answering sneeze sounded behind her, Scully jumped.

"If you're hungry, there's a deli down the block. I don't think you'll find anything edible in there." The voice belonged to a woman Scully had noticed the previous day. She was playing the part of Ophelia to David's Hamlet. During the rehearsal, she'd seemed young and innocent, with cascades of light blonde hair flowing down her back. Here, close up, Scully could see the blonde was mostly silver-gray. Outside her character, she appeared sturdy, middle-aged, and down to earth. Pulling a pack of cigarettes out of her shirt pocket, she offered it first to Scully.

"I'm Suzanne Bzialewski," she said. "You're Debbie, right?"

"Yeah, that's me." Scully declined the proffered smoke. "I was just looking around. I, umm... I love old buildings. I was checking out the cupboards to see if there were any old newspapers and stuff left behind."

Lighting a cigarette, the other woman took a deep drag. She blew the smoke out one side of her mouth, away from Scully, for politeness sake. "Find anything interesting?"

"Only if you like mouse bones and bobbie pins," Scully lied. Waving a hand in front of her face, she said, "It's been a while since anyone dusted." 

"Well, we're only supposed to be here for a few months. Didn't seem like it was worth the time to swab the place out. The fridge works and the counters are clean. That's all any of them care about." Tamping out the stub of her cigarette, Suzanne said, "You look like you could use some fresh air. Let's go out back."

Scully nodded and followed her through the back door. It was situated next to the spiral stairs, with just enough room to get between the two. The door opened onto a small rear yard, no bigger than the inside of the store itself. The fenced yards of neighboring buildings enclosed it on two sides, with a gate leading out to an alley on the third. A few green shoots struggled out of the ground along the rickety pickets, but they looked pale and sickly, as if they never got enough sunlight. The grass was still brown and lanky, matted down by the winter's snow and not yet recovered. It was obvious no one had tended the tiny space for a long time. Scully shivered in the shadowy chill of the air. Drawing in a deep lungful of the damp coolness felt good after all the dust. 

"So, are you two an item?" Suzanne pulled out another cigarette and lit it, flicking the match into a puddle, where it hissed. "You and Michael?" 

Her question took Scully by surprise. "Umm, no, we're not," she replied. "We just work together." Well, that wasn't a lie, at least.

"You're kidding. You hang out with a gorgeous man like that and you're not doing him?" 

Hoping Mulder wouldn't choose that moment to come looking for her and blow her cover story, Scully expanded on her falsehood. "We're just really good friends. Have been for years."

Suzanne chuckled, grinding her half-finished smoke under her shoe. "Honey, one of you is blind or gay or both. If I was twenty years younger, I'd be swapping spit with him in a heartbeat."

An evil imp in Scully's mind was going to suggest that she give it a try, but Suzanne's next words blew the thought right out of her head.

"You heard about the deaths yet?"

Shoving chilled hands into her jeans pockets, Scully nodded. "Yeah, we heard about them from David. It must be hard on everyone, losing your friends that way."

"Speaking for myself, they weren't exactly friends, but they didn't deserve to die that way, either. I guess you just never know what people will do when they're depressed." 

Scully straightened, all attention. "They were depressed? David didn't seem to think so."

"You'd have to be depressed to cut your own throat or drink poison, don't you think? Hell, I've been a bit down for a couple weeks, too, but at least I haven't tried to drown myself or anything. In fact, I did everything I could _not_ to drown when I fell into Lake Erie."

"You nearly drowned? When was that?"

"Last week. I was feeling antisocial, so I went out to Edgewater Park. I thought sitting on the boulders along the shore and watching the waves crashing would help. I hadn't been there long when I tumbled off the rock and fell into the lake. Damned cold it was, too. I screeched like hell until a couple fishermen came and hauled me out."

Before Scully could assimilate what she'd heard and come up with a comment, Suzanne pointed down the alley. 

"Looks like they tracked the idiot down again."

At the other end of the narrow passageway, Doug and Joe could be seen approaching with Brian striding between them. Snatches of Joe's soothing assurances could be heard as the breeze tore them from his lips and flung them down the alley.

"Let's get back inside before Doug sees us," Suzanne suggested. "I don't want to sit through another of his pissy speeches about not wasting time that could be spent studying lines. He's one of the best at pulling together a production, but the man is an insensitive ass."

Following her back through the door, Scully took time to wash off the evidence of her snooping. When she met Mulder in the hall, on his way toward the front of the store, he nodded as if nothing had happened. She wondered where he'd been, but let it pass and joined him in finding a place to sit.

When Doug and Joe walked in with a less agitated Brian, Mulder and Scully were back in their seats, ready for rehearsal along with the others. Peace reigned for a few hours as the understudies gathered in groups to go over the parts they would play if necessary. Mulder found himself relating more and more to the Danish heir-apparent with the dysfunctional family life. 

When Doug announced a supper break, the idea wasn't as appealing to Mulder as it might have been earlier in the day. After losing his meager breakfast, he'd decided to skip lunch and felt better for a while. But now, the butterflies were back. Mulder hoped whatever bug he was coming down with would hurry up and leave. Seeing Scully enter from the rear of the store, he joined her in observing the departing company.

"So what did you find, Scully?"

Watching Doug toying with a dagger, she ignored Mulder's curt tone of voice. "Besides little piles of mouse bones? Just some bottles and books." She wiped her hands down the sides of her smudged jeans, still trying to erase the spidery touch of long-abandoned cobwebs. "Did you get any impressions of the other actors while I was grubbing in the dirt?"

"Why do you want to know?"

His question took her by surprise. It wasn't the words themselves as much as the suspicion underlying them. Taking a good look at him for the first time since she'd entered the room, Scully was alarmed by the pallor of Mulder's skin. His tongue snaked out, giving his dry lips an absent lick. His eyes seemed to be darker than usual, as though the pupils were dilated. She reached out to touch his forehead, frowning as he flinched to one side.

"I was just wondering if you had any better luck than I did," she answered. "I was hoping you'd learned something that would help."

"Well you're wasting your time," Mulder stated. "There has to be some kind of possession or occult spell at work here, and you're not going to find that rooting around in an empty store."

She was going to debate his hypothesis, but her attention was caught by David. He was backing away from Joe, expansive gestures demonstrating some type of fencing move. Unfortunately, neither man could see that he was backing toward Doug, who stood facing in the opposite direction with the dagger clasped behind his back, point outward. Scully opened her mouth to shout a warning, already aware she would be too late. 

The look of surprise on David's face was mirrored on Doug's. They spun around to face each other, mouths working soundlessly. The dagger dropped between them, tip glistening red. David twisted to look at his back. He never completed the move, collapsing to the floor at his director's feet. 

"What the hell happened?" Doug's voice was several octaves higher than usual. "It was a prop dagger. How did he hurt himself on a prop dagger?"

Rushing over to the fallen actor, Scully was vaguely aware of Mulder picking up the weapon with a hanky while Doug continued to babble to no one in particular. Ripping open the back of David's shirt, she was relieved to find a deep gash, rather than a stab wound. Checking the one eye she could see, his dilated pupil coupled with the pale, dry skin gave her pause. There was something going on here. She just hoped she would be able to figure out what before someone else was seriously hurt.

"It's okay, Doug," she interrupted his confused ranting. "I've had first aid training. It just looks like a bad cut to me, but we should probably get him to the hospital. I think he's in shock and he'll need stitches."

The few people left in the room divied up the jobs of calling an ambulance, calling David's mother, and helping Scully to bandage his wound. In all the activity, she never noticed Mulder as he stood in a dark corner, watching her with glowering eyes.

* * *

**Apartment 3-C  
Forgac Collision and Towing  
8:47 PM**

"There's something in that store, Scully. I know it."

"Mulder, I don't think it's anything paranormal or--"

"What about David? You saw what happened to him."

"He walked backward without looking where he was going. It was an accident --"

"Now he's home for a week with stitches and *I'm* stuck having to learn three major parts. You don't see anything unusual about that?"

"All I see is Doug using the person with the best memory for a very difficult part --"

"Maybe it's Doug, after all. Maybe there's more going on within the company than we've seen so far. We need to do some background checks and--"

"Mulder!"

He stopped the frenetic pacing and turned startled eyes on his partner. 

"What?"

"Settle down. We've been going around in circles without saying anything new. Let's take a break for a while."

"I'm fine, Scully."

"No, you're not. You're tired and so am I. We already gave our statements to the police, we've gone over all the evidence -- again -- now it's time to step back for a little bit." Scully picked up her script from the coffee table. "Why don't we go over some of Hamlet's lines, since you're stuck with him?"

"With any luck, we won't be here long enough for it to matter. We're not really actors, you know."

"All the more reason to keep our cover intact." She flipped the pages, past her own meager part, highlighted in pink. "Why don't we go over the 'to be or not to be' speech?"

"Everybody does that one. Let's do the scene after it. You can read Ophelia's part; find out what it's like to have good lines for a change."

"Gee, thanks, Mulder. You want to look the script over first?"

"I've already read it. You can prompt me when I get lost."

"Okay. Start with 'Soft you now'."

Closing his eyes, Mulder drew in a deep, calming breath and let it out slowly. He opened his eyes, and began.

"'Soft you now, the fair Ophelia. Nymph, in thy orisons be all my sins rememb'red.'"

"'Good my lord, how does your honor for this many a day?'"

"'I humbly thank you, well, well.'"

"'My lord, I have remembrances of yours that I have longed long to redeliver.' Mulder, does that make sense to you?"

"What? Does what make sense?"

"'Longed long.' It sounds funny."

"It just means that she's been wanting to do it for a while. Go on."

"Oh. Ummm, 'I pray you now receive them.'"

"'No, not I, I never gave you aught.'"

"'My honor'd lord, you know right well you did, and with them words of so sweet breath compos'd as made these things more rich. Their perfume lost, take these again, for to the noble mind, rich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind. There, my lord.'"

"'Ha! Are you honest?''

"'My lord?'"

"'Are you fair?'"

"'What means your lordship?'"

"'That if you be honest and fair, your honesty should admit no discourse to your beauty.'"

"'Could beauty, my lord, have better commerce than with honesty?'"

"'Ay, truly, for the power of beauty will sooner transform honesty from what it is to a bawd than the force of truth can translate beauty into his likeness. This was sometime -- '"

"'Than the force of honesty,' Mulder."

"Huh? Scully, what is it?"

"You said 'than the force of truth.' The line is 'than the force of honesty.' Why don't you pick it up from there?"

"Yeah. Uh... 'than the force of *honesty* can translate beauty into his likeness. This was sometime a paradox, but now the time gives it proof. I did love you once.'"

"'Indeed, my lord, you made me believe so.'"

"'You should not have believ'd me, for virtue cannot so inoculate our old stock but we shall relish of it. I lov'd you not.'"

"'I was the more deceiv'd.'"

"'Get thee to a nunn'ry, why wouldst thou be a breeder of sinners? I am myself indifferent honest, but yet I could accuse me of such things that it were better my mother had not borne me: I am very proud, revengeful, ambitious, with more offenses at my beck than I have thoughts to put them in, imagination to give them shape, or time to act them in. What should such fellows --'"

"Mulder, calm down. There's no need to shout."

"I wasn't shouting."

"Yes you were. You still are."

"I'm just doing what Hamlet would do. Isn't that the point of rehearsing a scene? Now are we going to do this or not?"

"Okay, okay. Go ahead and start again from 'what should such fellows as I.'"

"Well quit interrupting so we can get through this. 'What should such fellows as I do crawling between earth and heaven? We are arrant knaves, believe none of us. Go thy ways to a nunn'ry. Where's your father?'"

"'At home, my lord.'"

"'Let the doors be shut upon him, that he may play the fool no where but in his own house. Farewell.'"

"'O, help him, you sweet heavens!'"

"'If thou dost marry, I'll give thee this plague for thy dowry: be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as snow, thou shalt not escape calumny. Get thee to a nunn'ry, farewell. --'" 

"Mulder, hush."

"'-- Or if thou wilt needs marry, marry a fool, for wise men know well enough what monsters you make of them. To a nunn'ry, go, and quickly, too. Farewell.'"

"............. Oh! Uh, 'Heavenly powers, restore him!'"

"'I have heard of your paintings, well enough. God hath given you one face and you make yourselves another. You jig and amble, and you lisp, you nickname God's creatures and make your wantonness ignorance. Go to, I'll no more on't, it hath made me mad. I say we shall have no more marriage. Those that are married already, (all but one) shall live, the rest shall keep as they are. To a nunn'ry, go.'"

"'O, what a noble mind is here o'erthrown!'"

The slamming door made Scully jump, dropping the script. She stared in surprise at the dust motes swirling in the wake of her partner's exit.

* * *

**2:05 AM**

Mulder's heart pounded against his ribs as he dodged through the trees, branches whipping his face until it stung. Watery moonlight gave just enough illumination to keep him from running head first into anything. The wind whistled and howled around his ears, making the leaves perform a dervish dance. Doug Westler's voice chased him like a banshee in the night.

"It can't be helped. You'll have to be Hamlet until David comes back."

"But that means I've got three major parts to learn."

"It can't be helped. Can't be helped. Can't be helped."

The words echoed inside his head. He didn't want to be Hamlet. He couldn't be. There was no rational reason for the fear that welled up inside him. Mulder just knew if he took on this new character, it would mean his death. So he ran for his life. As hard as he could.

Bursting into an opening in the forest, Mulder saw a thin figure just ahead. It glowed with a greenish light, cadaverous and nauseating. Leaves gathered around it, shaping themselves into faces he recognized, then falling to the forest floor before rising up to refashion themselves. Skidding to a stop, he stared for several moments at the still form, willing his feet to carry him forward.

"Mark me." The words blew apart in a wailing gust, thrown towards him in pieces, insubstantial and doleful.

"Speak, I am bound to hear." Unconscious steps took Mulder closer, even as the vision appeared to approach without moving. "Dad?!"

"I am thy father's spirit, doom'd for a certain term to walk the night, and for the day confin'd to fast in fires, till the foul crimes done in my days of nature are burnt and purg'd away."

Mulder fell to his knees, tears coursing unheeded down his cheeks. 

The apparition floated closer. "List, list, O, list! If thou didst ever thy dear father love -"

"Oh God!"

"Revenge his foul and most unnatural murder."

"Murder!"

"Murder most foul, as in the best it is, but this most foul, strange, and unnatural."

Jumping to his feet, Mulder threw his arms wide, embracing the shrieking wind and whirling leaves. "Help me to find them, so I can make the bastards pay! Tell me how to avenge your death! What should I do?"

The fearsome apparition began to grow, expanding until it blocked the moonlight, becoming the only thing visible no matter where Mulder looked. The wind had died, and all the leaves lay still at his feet. The silence pressed on his eardrums as though he had lost all ability to hear. Then, he saw the figure's lips move, issuing forth a phosphorescent cloud along with its words.

"Trust no one."

Crunching footsteps in the leaves sounded directly behind him. Mulder whirled as a hand touched his shoulder. He breathed a sigh of relief to see Scully watching him with loving concern on her face. Until she opened her mouth, and spoke.

"O, what a noble mind is here o'erthrown."

Jerking upright in bed, Mulder gasped cool air into his straining lungs. His gaze jerked around the room, noting furniture, stove, sink, in the red glow of the sign pulsing outside his window. The damp sheets were tangled around his legs, preventing him from getting out of bed as fast as he would have liked. Good thing there was a wastebasket close at hand. Only this time, there was nothing for his heaving stomach to expel.


	4. Act 3

**Othello rehearsal  
May 6  
11:18 AM**

"For mine own part -- no offense to the general, nor any man of quality -- I hope to be sav'd."

"And so do I too, lieutenant."

"Ay; but by your leave, not before me; the lieutenant is to be sav'd before the ancient. Let's have no more of this; let's to our affairs -- God forgive us our sins! -- Gentlemen, let's look to our business. Do not think, gentlemen, that I am drunk: this is my ancient, this is my right hand, and this is my left hand. I am not drunk now; I can stand well enough, and I speak well enough."

"Excellent well."

"Why, very well then; you must not think then that I am drunk."

Standing to the far right of the open floor, Scully watched as Mulder's Cassio staggered off, stage left, followed by some of the other men. If she hadn't been sure he was sober, his pale face would have given the impression of a hangover. Maybe he was just hungry. All he'd had for breakfast was some tea after they'd gotten to the rehearsal hall. Even on an empty stomach, his perfect memory still was able to dredge up the appropriate dialog. Clutching her script pages, Scully waited for Desdemona's cue.

On the other side of the temporary stage area, Mulder leaned against the wall, trying to quell the churning in his stomach. It wasn't as bad since he'd tossed his cookies before rehearsal started. At least Scully had been too busy to notice. He didn't need her fussing over a case of the flu when there were more important things to concentrate on. Only, his jittery nerves were making it a bit hard to concentrate on anything. He jumped when a finger tapped him on the shoulder.

"Hi. We haven't met, but I was watching you yesterday. I'm Tracy Griffith." 

A willowy woman with strawberry-blonde hair was standing a bit too close for Mulder's comfort, but he stuck out a hand in greeting. "Michael Mulder. Just call me Mulder. Pleased to meet you."

"I'm playing Bianca to your Cassio, you know." Tracy licked her lips and sidled closer, still holding his hand. Mulder pulled until she released him and scooted further down the wall. She closed the gap, leaning into his shoulder. "I was wondering if you'd like to... go over our scenes together later."

"I think we'll be doing that in a little while, won't we? I mean, we are rehearsing those scenes today." He watched as she licked her lips again, her gaze fastened on his mouth as he spoke. He twitched at the unexpected feel of fingers running up his ribs, toward his chest. 

"Yeah, we are," she breathed in his ear. "But I was thinking of something a little more... private."

"Ummm..." Mulder would have found an answer in his muddled brain if he hadn't been distracted by Scully's appearance on the stage. He watched as Desdemona was gathered into the arms of Othello's understudy for a brief scene and led off stage again. A jolt of suspicion rocked through his body as she seemed to remain in the man's arms a bit longer than necessary before stepping back. He noticed her puzzled frown when she caught his eye. Just then, Mulder felt long nails tickling up the side of his neck. Tracy was breathing in his ear, again.

"Mulder, are you okay?" Scully asked.

"Yeah, Scully, thanks." He'd missed seeing her approach. There was more than just gratitude for the inquiry in his response. "My stomach's feeling better now."

"Glad to hear it. Who's your friend?"

Scooting out from under Tracy's clinging hands, Mulder performed the introductions, barely remembering to substitute Scully's undercover identity. "She's doing Bianca in the play." He explained. "We were just talking about our parts."

"I see." The two women eyed each other like a couple of cats with one catnip toy between them. Scully had a lot more experience at intimidation, and Tracy backed down first.

"Why do you two call each other by your last names?" she huffed. 

The blank look on Mulder's face told Scully she would have to be the one to improvise. "Well, the last troupe we were in already had a Michael and a Debbie, so we started using our last names. It sorta stuck."

"Can I call you Michael, then?" Tracy had reentered Mulder's personal space, oblivious to Scully's lowered brows. "You're the only one here."

He scooted away from her again and bumped into his partner. "I prefer Mulder. Michael makes me sound like an archangel and I could never live up to the reputation."

"I'd say it fits perfectly," Tracy purred.

Scully had finally had enough. "Come on, Mulder. We're breaking for lunch." She grabbed his arm, leading him away. Once they were out of earshot, Mulder leaned over and spoke in her ear.

"I'm surprised you're not having lunch with Othello instead of me."

She skidded to a stop, causing a collision. "Where the hell did that come from?"

"You seemed awfully chummy together earlier. I just figured you'd be more interested in getting to know each other better." Mulder licked dry lips and wished he had a bottle of water for his parched throat. The glare he was receiving dried up anything else he had to say.

"I'm going to ignore that comment," Scully said, "and we'll just put it down to whatever bug you seem to have picked up. Right now we're going to get some food, and then, we're going to go over the case. If you want to practice your lines with Bimbo Bianca after that, it's up to you. For now, we're working, and I expect you to act like it."

Wisely, Mulder kept his mouth shut as he followed her out of the old store.

* * *

**rehearsal hall  
7:40 PM**

Having food in his stomach appeared to be just what the doctor ordered. Mulder had started out with some soup and crackers at lunch, and when that stayed down, making him feel a bit better, he'd graduated to grilled chicken and a salad for supper. 

He and Scully had gone over everything they knew, again, and it still didn't add up to anything they could grab onto. Mulder could see the pattern, but they still had no idea of the causative factor. Each of the actors had been killed in the same manner as one of their characters, but why? The tox screens on the victims turned up a foreign substance, but a different one in each case. Sean Barliss was obvious -- he'd drunk his grandmother's eye drops, which contained atropine. But Bill Yankovic had hyoscine in his system, and Andrea Dixon showed traces of scopolamine. There was something that nagged at him about that, but he couldn't pin it down. Poor Teresa Bates was playing the wrong character at the wrong time. David Prohaska just appeared to be clumsy and not watching where he was going. Mulder had left Scully at her laptop in one of the dressing rooms, going over all the medical records again. 

"Okay, people," Doug Westler yelled. Voices quieted down and everyone's attention turned toward him. "The Othello rehearsal went as well as could expected, but we need to do a bit of fight choreography before we call it a night. Joe will go over the basic moves. Remember, people, this is practice. Let's keep the maiming to a minimum."

Doug gestured to Mulder and Brian, indicating that they would be first. Taking a last gulp of his cooling tea, Mulder set it aside, where it wouldn't get kicked over. He wished Scully would hurry up with her research. He was looking forward to showing her his manly moves.

Choosing a sword, Mulder stepped into the middle of the floor, watching as Brian did the same. He realized that they hadn't seen much of him since the previous day. Brian's part in Othello wasn't big, so he hadn't been needed during most of that day's rehearsal. Every time Mulder noticed him, he'd been sitting outside the circle of actors, brows lowered as he glowered at nothing in particular. But since he was playing Laertes to Mulder's Hamlet, they were going to need to work on their swordplay to avoid injury. Shaking off a sudden mild dizziness, Mulder managed to clear his eyes enough so he could see what Joe was demonstrating for their big fight scene.

He really wished Scully would hurry up.

* * *

Swords clashed and clanged, making Scully's ears ring before she ever made it to the chairs set up around the perimeter of the room. She chose a seat where she could watch the action with one eye while her brain continued to shuffle the information she'd been absorbing. There was a tiny fact she should be able to understand, even with the distraction of the sword play going on in front of her. Something about the tox screens -- atropine, scopolamine, hyoscine... What was it about them? The shouted directions from the makeshift stage broke through her concentration at last. 

"Brian, this is just a practice. Settle down and follow the choreography before someone gets hurt."

Joe's words echoed in her ears as Scully focused all her attention on the combatants. Both men were sweating as they twirled and lunged at each other. For a rehearsal, they seemed to really be going at it with a vengeance, even to her untrained eye. Mulder appeared to be getting the worst of the attack, falling back in a circular pattern as he parried the wild swipes of his opponent's blade. 

"What scene are they rehearsing?" she whispered to Suzanne, sitting next to her.

"The end of Hamlet, when Laertes and Hamlet both die," she murmured back.

Suddenly, everything fell into place -- the toxicology findings, the flu-like symptoms and dehydration, Mulder's strange behavior, the unlikely theory of suicide -- it all made sense. Scully's gaze whipped to Mulder's face, watching the strain in his muscles as he panted in exertion. He did a quick tuck and roll, bouncing to his feet right in front of her, too focused on deflecting his opponent's sword to notice her presence. But she noticed something -- Mulder's pupils were fully dilated. His eyes appeared black in his pale, sweating face. As he spun around, Scully got a good look at Brian. Ponytail swinging wildly, his eyes were just as dark as her partner's, his face equally pale. He wasn't paying any attention to Joe's instructions or admonishments, but kept driving his enemy back in a relentless attack. 

_He's attacking, not just practicing_ , she realized. _This isn't make believe to him. He's trying to kill an enemy, not rehearse a scene._

"Quick!" Scully shouted. "How do they die?"

Several people turned puzzled faces her way, but it was Tracy who answered. "Laertes scratches Hamlet with a poisoned sword, then Hamlet takes the sword and scratches him back. They both die from the same poison."

As Brian's blade whistled past her view, Scully jumped out of her seat. She needed a way to stop the fight without anyone getting hurt. Mulder was weakening and there wasn't time to explain. Launching herself at the combatants, Scully shouted over her shoulder as she tackled her partner to the floor.

"Someone get Brian down and hold him there, but watch out for his sword! There's poison on the end."

All hell broke loose as Doug and Joe jumped on Brian, wrestling him face down on the floor with Joe planting his backside on Brian's sword arm for good measure. 

"The devil take thy soul!" Brian's Laertes shouted. 

Mulder's Hamlet hollered back, "O villainy! Ho, let the door be lock'd! Treachery! Seek it out."

While the two erstwhile enemies struggled to rise, screaming lines from the play at each other, Scully held on as tight as she could and prayed someone else would have the presence of mind to call for help.


	5. Epilogue

**Cleveland Clinic  
May 7  
10:25 AM**

"Tomorrow?!"

The exasperated tone of Mulder's voice made Scully roll her eyes in frustration. "Give the doctors a break. They just want to make sure your system is clean. You were pretty loopy when we got you here last night, you know."

"Loopy schoompy. Tell me what the hell happened. Things were a bit fuzzy toward the end."

Swatting away the long fingers picking at the IV taped to his hand, Scully perched on the bed. "A simple case of mass poisoning, I'm afraid -- with black henbane."

"Where did it come from? I thought the old drug store was unoccupied."

"We'll probably never know for sure," Scully said, and sighed. "The last druggist was run out of town when his neighbors discovered he was practicing witchcraft and dispensing potions along with his regular prescriptions. It was probably harmless, but not very popular. I never got to tell you, but I found a very old book on magic in the kitchen cupboards, along with others having to do with pharmacology and poisonous plants. I didn't think anything of it at the time, but now it makes sense. Maybe he was just trying to practice natural medicine and his customers took it the wrong way. The store has been empty off and on ever since."

A smile lit up Mulder's face. "Did you know henbane was used in witchcraft to give witches the hallucination of flying? In the thirteenth century, it was believed that black henbane was used to conjure demons. It was said if a man wanted to bring love, he should gather it naked, early in the morning, while standing on one foot -- " His lecture was stopped by his partner's raised hand.

"Is that what you do on those morning runs of yours?" Scully gestured toward the bedstand, where her laptop lay closed. "I know what henbane was used for, Mulder. I've been doing some research while you were sleeping off your high. Not only did it give partakers hallucinations, it also made them more open to suggestion. I think the people affected the worst were the ones who identified with the characters they were playing. They started to become that character, even going so far as to kill themselves or others in the same manner as directed in the play."

"And after two days of being inside the melancholy Dane, I started to take on his mind set." Mulder mulled that one over for a few seconds before another thought occurred to him. "How come only some of us were affected?"

"Because not everyone drank tea made at the store." Scully held up a small evidence bag with a handful of crumbled leaves inside. "As far as I can determine, someone found a very old stash of henbane leaves, probably left behind by that druggist. The others seem to think it was Andrea who discovered it -- she was very big on tea drinking when she was sober. Mistaking the henbane for something exotic, she mixed it in with some regular tea leaves and proceeded to poison the company. After Andrea died, they just took turns using her poisonous leaves to brew toxic tea."

Mulder studied the bag at close range, fascinated by the whole idea. "But henbane is pretty powerful stuff, Scully. We should have been affected worse, or even killed outright."

"I think we're talking about really old leaves here, Mulder. Even when dried, they retain the toxin, but after so many years, and diluted with the normal tea, no one was getting too much at one time."

Handing back the evidence bag, Mulder squirmed in the bed, trying to get more comfortable. "How is the rest of the company? Were many others affected?"

"A third to maybe a half drank the mixture at some point, but all of them reacted to differing degrees. I had blood samples taken from everyone just to make sure." Reaching around his shoulders, Scully pulled the pillow up and patted it into place. "I should have seen it sooner from the autopsy reports. Everyone who died or was injured had either hyoscine, scopolamine, or atropine in their system. All of them are present in henbane, but I didn't make the connection until it was almost too late. By then, Brian was trying to scratch you with a poisoned sword because he thought he was Laertes. The death of his sister just reinforced that particular delusion."

"Most of that sword fight is a big jumble to me, but I do seem to remember being knocked down and pinned by a certain G-woman. You couldn't have seen anything on Brian's sword. What made you assume it was there?"

"I guess I've been spending too much time with you, Mulder." Scully's grin pulled an answering one onto Mulder's face. "Actually, I'd found a few things left behind in odd corners of the store. Nothing very interesting, beyond a classic book on witchcraft, but there were some bottles of old medicines, too. That should have tipped me off right away. But watching the two of you attacking each other like you really meant it shook the pieces into place. All of a sudden I realized that if Laertes killed Hamlet with a poisoned sword, and Brian thought he was Laertes and you were Hamlet..."

"Then he'd try to do the same thing to me. What was on the sword?"

"Liquid cyanide."

Mulder whistled. "How did he get something like that?"

"He probably found it in one of the cupboards before we got here. Already immersed in his role as Laertes, he must have figured he'd need it at some point to take out Hamlet."

"Which would have been David, if he hadn't already been hurt." Mulder tugged on his lower lip as he slotted everything into place in his mind. "So Bill thought he was Othello and strangled Teresa/Desdemona, then killed himself. Just like in the play. Sean, thinking he was Romeo, tried to poison himself with atropine, which just happened to be the same thing he was already ingesting. And Andrea stabbed herself like Juliet, maybe set off by Sean's poisoning. And it was all a huge mistake in the first place."

Scully caught his gaze and smirked. "Tracy Griffith sends her apologies, by the way. She's actually engaged to be married and has no idea why she was hitting on you like that."

He smirked back. "Because she was Bianca and I was Cassio. But I don't understand about David. He doesn't fit the pattern, yet he was hurt."

"Actually, he fit the pattern, too. I'm certain his tox screen will turn up positive. He was playing Roderigo, the spy for Iago. He fit right into the role of the spy's spy -- for us. We just didn't realize it because we'd never seen him act any other way. But in the play, Roderigo is stabbed by Iago, who was being played by Doug Westler."

Mulder nodded. "And Doug was the one holding the knife when David was cut. Are you planning to charge Doug?"

"We both saw it, Mulder. David backed into the knife. Doug was just as surprised as we were. I don't know how it happened, but I think it was just an amazing coincidence."

"So when can I get out of here and go sightseeing, Scully?" he asked, changing the subject.

"I told you -- tomorrow. And we're going straight back to Washington so we can report to Skinner."

"But tomorrow's Wednesday. That gives us four days to enjoy springtime in beautiful Northeast Ohio." He tried to keep his expression bland, but she saw through it immediately. 

"I know what you're thinking, Mulder, and the answer is no."

"Awww, Scully. I haven't been to Cleveland since it opened. Can't we at least stay one extra day? I'm sure we could get some vacation time if you told Skinner I wasn't ready for work."

Fists planted on her hips, Scully trained her most uncompromising frown on her hopeful partner. "Mulder, you are not dragging me through the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame."

"Did I mention that the Great Lakes Science Center is right next door?" Mulder's eyebrows waggled enthusiastically. "Hands-on exhibits... OmniMax giant screen theater... lots of scientific stuff. And they have some incredible shops in Tower City Center downtown. Even a whole Godiva chocolate store. I heard some nurses talking about it this morning."

"Well..." Scully knew it was already a losing battle. 

"We'll get a nice hotel room downtown, my treat. Check out the Cleveland Art Museum... the Natural History Museum... find out if the Cleveland Orchestra's at home. We could even take a midnight stroll through a cemetery before retiring to our hotel and some of those funky monkeyshines we didn't get to the other night."

The look of optimistic excitement on his face had Scully biting back a chuckle. "Maybe we *could* stay for a day or two. Just long enough to make sure you're recovered for the flight home. But you sing even one note of Blue Suede Shoes, and I'm kicking your butt all the way back to DC." 

"Scully! You know what I like!"


End file.
